Cost of the Crown
by Walkinthegarden
Summary: Sansa, Queen in the North: "These tears that burn my eyes are all the tears the queen can shed, The tears I weep in silence as I mourn my Heralds dead. Oh gods that dwell beyond the stars, if you can hear my cry- And if you have compassion-let me send no more to die!"


Sansa Stark - Queen of the North, Warden of the North, Tamer of Wildings, Princess of Westeros, and Lady of Casterly Rock

Any that lived in the North knew the titles by heart. She was a living legend with stories and songs written and performed in her honor. A beauty among ruins she was a jewel of the North, and so affectionately named, but even her most obscenely enamored subjects knew of the darkness that lingered behind her cool Tully eyes.

While her face remained beautiful, the rest of her body was a map of anger and evil. Burns scarred her right arm and thin red lashes crossed her back. She had been shackled, whipped, burned, and disfigured; yet all it took was a pretty face and an even prettier smile for the world to be deceived.

Winterfell, while beautiful, was no longer the welcoming castle of the Queen's youth. When the sun went to bed, the lights were extinguished and the occupants were sent to bed or forced to stumble about in the dark. The castle looked forbidden in the night, untouchable against the harsh moonlight.

If one were to stay up to the latest of night hours, they would see the pale ash face of their Queen in a window, staring up at the night sky.

She stands tall in the same gown she wore in the daylight. Her eyes are cast upward with tears in her splendid eyes. She's a queen without family, without any reason other than her duty to continue on in this life.

The ghost of a smile crosses her pretty face as she stares at the stars. They are beautiful, and should her sister be alive, she thinks that maybe Arya is also gazing at them. She used to look at them as a child, back when she was young and naive to the real world. They were the jewels of the sky that her mother promised her a valiant knight would gather for her to make a crown.

She has a crown, one she wanted more then anything else in her youth. She'd been born for it, to be a Queen. She'd imagined the life she'd live as a queen. She'd imagined a doting prince that would love her and honor her. She thought she'd bare his children and that they'd care for them together. She thought her life would be a song.

She was a stupid girl then. She didn't know what being a queen would be like. It was cold and cruel and it destroyed what little innocence she still had. She was a slave to her children, her subjects. She had to care for them and only them. She was their mother, their wife, their protector, and their lover. She was a good Queen, yet her people starved in the Winter. Each bite she took, each soldier that fell cut her soul. She was the Queen, her own comfort should be least of the concern of her people. She had to be their trusted confidant and friend, but she could not do the same with them. No one is more alone than a Queen.

She loves all her children; both the high born that flock to her like birds to feed and low born that stare at her with wide eyes and reach out their skin covered bones to touch her. The knights are her greatest companions however.

Ser Jamie of House Lannister, Ser Gendry whom is bastard born, and many others. They council her in the finer points of war and are the only ones who truly know what she must do every day. They listen to her as she laughs in the halls during a feast and they take it upon themselves to shield her from both the physical and mental hurts.

"_Your Grace, my Queen," the boy cried out with an excited voice. He was young, close to ten and six, with dark hair that reminded her of Robb and large blue eyes that screamed of little Rickon. "I have heard tales of your kindness and I have seen it. Years back when I was just a boy of ten my sister and I were orphaned when the Dragon Queen destroyed Casterly Rock. We had nothing left and my sister and I had not supped in days. You saw us on the roadside near death and took my sister in your arms and fed her from your own water skin. You had us fed and sent us to foster at Highgarden under Lord Tyrell. My sister is ten and one now, engaged to be married to Lord Tyrell himself. I was to be married to the sweet babe of Lord Tyrell's Lady sister, but I begged permission to come and join your Queensguard. I promise to forever be loyal to you and protect you till my last breath."_

She'd done what no Queen should do. She allowed herself to fall in love with the boy. He was as close to a son as she would ever have. Her brother-cousin Jon's young son is heir to her throne and she is never to marry or bare children.

Not a fortnight ago the Karstarks had risen against her, rebelling fiercely and killing many of her subjects. With fear in her heart she had sent her knights to quiet the rebellion, wanting desperately to hold her knights close and never let them go, but she could not. Her kingdom came first, far above the well-being of any one man, woman, or child. They did not blame her of course; they did so happily, ready to defend their Queen and all she held dear.

Nearly forty of her knights were slaughtered. The rebellion was quieted, but forty of her children were dead.

"_My Queen!" Ser Gendry yelled, throwing open the doors to her chamber without so much as a knock. She would not punish him for it._

"_Ser Gendry…"_

"_Come, my Queen, quick."_

_She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran, following Gendry down the cold halls of Winterfell. People parted quickly, having never seen their Queen respond so unlady-like to anything._

_She threw the doors open to the maester's chambers and nearly fell to her knees at the sight._

_Laying on the bed was the boy with Robb's hair and little Rickon's eyes. He was hot with fever panting heavily with crimson bandages surrounding his stomach. A year in her service and he lay dying. His handsome face was twisted in pain and his eyes held fear._

_She went to his side and took his hot hand in her cold one._

"_Sweet boy," she whispered gently as she brushed his hair out of his eyes with her other hand._

"_I-I killed him Your Grace, I killed Lord Karstark. I-I got him for y-you," he stuttered between pants of pain._

"_Yes, and I am forever grateful. You have protected many innocents," she cooed softly before turning to the Maester. "Is there nothing we can give him for the pain?"_

"_Please My Queen, tell my sister I wished to see her wedding, really," he huffed, "Tell her I loved her."_

"_Of course," she whispered, forcing a smile onto her face._

"_I did it for y-you Y-Your Grace, to k-keep you safe," he stuttered. "A-Are you proud?"_

"_Of course," she whispered._

"_Please…" he trailed off, his head falling to the side, his eyes going blank._

_Sansa felt the tears prickling in the back of her eyes and pure, unadulterated fury course through her veins. Slowly she looked up to her knights, eyes ablaze with anger._

"_Who did this? Who hurt him!" she screamed, for once letting her cool composure crumble._

"_Your Grace, the man is dead. We saw to it," Ser Jamie informed her._

_Suddenly she was back to the cool Queen of the North, with eyes as cold as ice and a face so emotionless she looked like a corpse._

"_Of course, you're right. You take care of each other," she stated simply. With a nod of her head she turned and left._

Tears clouded Sansa's eyes as she looked up at the stars. "Please," she whispered to the gods, to any gods, "no more."

In the darkness of her chamber she fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

It is the last time she'll ever cry.

"_And if you have compassion-let me send no more to die!"_

* * *

A/n The entire story is based heavily on Cost of the Crown by Mercedes Lackey. If you didn't understand why Sansa can't marry it's because Jon is the bastard of Lyanna and Rhagear (yes I know I spelled it wrong). Anyway, Dani's children will be on the Iron Throne and Jon's will be the heir in the north. Therefore Sansa cannot marry and have children because then her children might rise against the throne in rebellion.


End file.
